By The Book
by Glow
Summary: In a temporarily Laneless world what happens when her best friend and boyfriend begin to see more of each other? [Updated 270404]
1. Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

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Pairing: Mentions of Rory/Dean, Rory/Tristan and Rory/Jess. This is however, at its heart, a Rory/Dave story. If you don't like UC shipping I suggest you use that handy dandy back button at the top of your screen.

Rating: PG-13. I think.

Spoilers: To the end of season 3.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Warner Brothers. No infringement is intended. 

Authors Notes: People. Why does nothing work out as planned? I meant to do a one shot Rory/Dave piece. It did not work out that way. It morphed and mutated into something more. My muse hates me. Special thanks to those who have been so nice and patient with me and my writing. And to Tinuviel Henneth, for bringing Rory/Dave to the world. 

By The Book

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Part One: Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

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Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Teenagers, warring families, star-crossed lovers, etc. Ask anyone and they can tell you the story. You would think that, considering all the hype, Romeo and Juliet would be the best of Shakespeare's plays. Of the tragedies, at the very least. Except it really isn't. Or so thought Rory Gilmore as she lay sprawled across the couch in her living room, attempting to finish Act One, though her mind insisted on wandering to places she shouldn't. As a graduation present her Grandparents had given her the complete works of William Shakespeare and she was currently on _Romeo and Juliet_ having already finished _Othello _and a_ A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

It was late August and she was restless. She had returned from a Europe two weeks ago. After seeing the best of Europe, museums, monuments, boutiques (her mother had insisted) in Paris and Ghent, Amsterdam and Berlin, Vienna and Florence… well Al's Pancake World seemed a bit mundane.

She loved her town, she really did. But having spent her entire life there, never until recently venturing far from the East Coast, was it any wonder that she missed what she had only just had a taste of?

It didn't help that almost everyone that could possibly keep her entertained was gone. Her mother was busy, settling things and the Independence Inn and making arrangements for The Dragonfly. She was busy but also very, very happy, and so Rory was happy for her. It wasn't everyday someone was able to realize a dream they'd harbored for as long as Lorelai and Sookie had wanted an inn of their own. 

Jess was gone. California, Luke had said. She hadn't heard from him herself. Didn't know if he liked it or if he was happier there. Not that she cared.

Paris was traveling with her mother. Rory had gotten a postcard from Montreal, of all places, three days ago. Paris seemed almost… relaxed. Being free of Chilton obviously agreed with her. 

As for Lane, she was in Korea again. Mrs. Kim, undoubtedly hoping that some time there would curb some of her daughter's recent rebellion and make her forget about the drums and unsuitable boys, had again sent off Lane to Korea. Rory had promised to hang out with Dave, and she suspected Lane had forced Dave to make a similar promise. In light of recent events it was best not to think about that. 

Dean was planning his wedding, a concept that, even after a fairly long period of time, still boggled Rory's mind. It just seemed like Dean was far too young. Much like Juliet. What does someone Juliet's age (thirteen, fourteen?) know about love? At seventeen years and ten months, positively worldly in comparison, Rory wasn't sure that she knew anything about love. She had only kissed four boys (and still referred to them as 'boys,' 'men' seemed wrong). Dean she had loved, Tristan she didn't even know, Jess she could have loved and Dave… well that just made her a very bad person. The worst kind of person. The kind of person Dante would have sent to the iced over layer of Hell. 

There was really very little to do and so she read. Or tried to, at least. But boredom (obviously) wasn't the only thing causing her distraction. No. There was the incident that shall not be named. It had happened two days ago. She was desperate not to think about it. Thinking about it made her think about other things and there really was such a thing as too much thinking. It gave her a headache and she had already taken more Advil than was technically healthy. And really, all this reading about lips and kissing was only encouraging her.

Her mother had pointed out (in that sensible way she had in dealing with her daughter's crisis's of the heart, though never her own), after Rory confessed (slightly melodramatically) to her own inherent evilness, that she was hardly in need of an exorcism.

"Rory, sweetie," she had begun, an arm wrapped around her daughter's shoulder in comfort, "it was a simple mistake. You're human just like the rest of us. It's good for you to remember that. We were getting a little freaked out by how perfect you are."

And then Rory had smiled a little through the tears that she didn't mean to cry.

Lorelai had smiled back and continued, "Besides, that makes Dave, what? Number four. You're hardly Hester Prynne."

Her mother was right, in a way. Four was a tiny little number. Countable on one hand leaving the thumb free. It had to be below average. Not that Rory had, really, any idea of what constituted "average." She wasn't one to read Seventeen or other teen garbage that insulted her intelligence. And her few female friends weren't good baselines for comparison. 

She knew Paris was at two. Tristan, her childhood crush. And Jamie, the (Princeton) man she was in love with.

There were Louise and Madeline. Rory had never actually spoken with either of them on the subject but were she to do the math she would put both of them over 50. It was the only sport they played, after all.

And Lane. Lane had three. Henry, the perfect Korean boy who had broken her heart, even though what they could have had never really had a chance to begin. And Dave. And Jung Chu. But Lane wished she could write that last one off.

Do the math you will get an average of approximately 26. Rory was good at math. And she knew that with such a wide range of numbers averages were useless.

Rory herself had four. Last night she was unable to sleep and had cataloged things that came in 4's. It had been more difficult than she had originally anticipated. Threes and fives were easy. Perhaps it was her muddled brain but she had come up with The Beatles, directions, and the elements according to the copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Astrology _Lorelai had picked up at the airport.

Due, in all likelihood, to the fact that it was 4 am and Rory hadn't slept at all she realized that though she had been kissed 4 boys each was as different from the others as was humanly possible. (Variety really is the spice of life, her mother's voice said inside her head).

First there had been Dean. Sweet, cute, baseball playing Dean. Dean was safe. The ideal first boyfriend. He had kissed her for the first time in the market, lips soft, undemanding, body at a safe distance. It had been a full three weeks after that until he'd kissed her again. Another month before they're tongues got involved. He'd gone to that dance at Chilton, even though he didn't really want to. In a full two years he'd never pushed her. He built her a car. Whenever he'd kissed her, his hands had gently cupped her face or rested on her back. They'd never wandered. 

He was the earth element in her little romantic quartet. Nurturing (he was getting married at the age of 18) and stabilizing (he'd always be there for her. Even now after they'd broken up). If she were to pick up the phone right now he would be at her house in five minutes. And if she were to tell him about Dave he'd listen and he wouldn't judge her. She was lucky.

The second boy she'd kissed had been Tristan. Tristan DuGrey. Her tormentor. He had been sad that night. Vulnerable. So different from the cocky swaggering boy she knew him as. She had liked him more in those brief minutes than she had ever before. 

It had been a rebound thing. Dean had hurt her. Summer, beautiful, heartless, Summer, had hurt him. That confused her. She didn't think it was possible for him to hurt. That kiss was brief but it was obvious that he had known what he was doing. His teeth had nipped her bottom lip ever so gently, his tongue gliding across it. Rory had pulled away as soon as she was able. Good thing too. That kiss, which was barely long enough to be called that, had affected her. It made her think of Dean and how protected she felt with him. So she cried. 

Still, the memory of that kiss had kept her up at night once, or twice, or more. She had wondered what would have happened had she not pulled away. Had she not chosen safety over the unknown. No one knew that, though. Even her mother. Still she wondered. After careful consideration, laying in bed, thinking about him (though she hadn't in awhile) Rory had decided he was air. Air was a masculine element. Its nature was challenging. And Tristan had been nothing if not a challenge. It was elusive. You couldn't really see it and she knows she never really saw Tristan clearly. The real Tristan may have been the spoiled bastard that called her Mary. He may have been the boy who sat on that piano bench.

Maybe it was better that she didn't know. Both ways he was gone and she'd be disappointed.

And then there was Jess. Jess, Rory knew, had always known, was fire. Fire, as Jeff Probst has drilled into the heads of all T.V owning humans, is essential to life. Yet it always has the capacity to destroy something else. Rory had kissed him first. In a way that she had never kissed anyone before. She had grabbed him, shocked him, and with her lips and teeth and tongue and body had tried to show him everything she had never been able to say with words. That act destroyed her relationship with Dean. Jess had tasted vaguely of cigarette smoke and something unnamable. It was, surprisingly, not an unpleasant combination.

Nothing with Jess was simple and easy. It was intense. He was a difficult person. He delighted in challenging her. Her mother disliked him. Lane disliked him. The vast majority of Stars Hollow (all of them, actually, except Luke) disliked him. She didn't care.

He didn't like to talk, to justify his actions. He didn't compromise. He was antagonistic and anti social. But still she did not care. Because sometimes, just by the way he looked at her, he could make her forget how to breathe. She felt beautiful and fascinating. When he kissed her she lost control of herself. For the first time in her life she forgot to think. All that had mattered was what she could feel. Jess liked her quirks and book-wormish tendencies in all. He didn't judge her. Didn't expect her to be perfect because he himself was far from it.

Rory didn't love Jess, but she could have. Had he stayed, had he let her in once in awhile, she would have fallen. It would have happened in an instant and she would have been powerless to stop it. It would have been hard and fast and possibly forever. She argued with herself over whether this was a good thing or not. Before Jess she would never have lied to her mother's face. Lies by omission yes, but that night, the night he showed up with Distillers tickets, was a first. But she thinks that being with Jess made her stronger. She thinks that she's more confident, that she knows her own mind now and that if push comes to shove she won't need Lorelai to hold her up. Jess was essential for her growth. But who knows. Had he stayed he may have destroyed her. Maybe he knew what he was doing when he left. Maybe he was trying to save her. 

That left water. And Dave.


	2. Unlikely Friends

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

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Notes: Part two of at least seven. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and read, even if they were weirded out by the pairing. 

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Part Two: Unlikely Friends

Dave. Lane's guitar playing boyfriend/bandmate. Former bandmate almost. Lane, headed off to a bible college, was going to resign her position as drummer. She didn't think it would be fair to the band were she to stay, given the veritable prison she would be going to in the fall. Rory knew this. Dave didn't.

It was strange how she cared about that little detail. Technically, all she should care about was Lane and her feelings. She did, of course. It upset her that her friend was unhappy. She also felt guilty, like she should tell Dave. Let him know that he was losing a drummer. Maybe more.

That was strange because up until two weeks ago Dave wasn't her friend. He was Lane's boyfriend. They'd never had a prolonged conversation. Whenever they'd been in the same room Lane had been present. They'd been polite, exchanged pleasantries.

Then two weeks ago she'd been awoken by the sounds of band practice. She'd just crossed the Atlantic Ocean the day before and she was more tired than she had ever been before. She'd stalked (more like stumbled, really) to the garage ready to raise some hell. Or at least give someone a stern talking to.

She'd pushed the door open harder than necessary and it had banged against the wall, making her wince and Brian, the bassist, jump at least a foot in the air. He had turned to her, a panicked look on his face. She felt bad then. She had forgotten how excitable he was.

They had all looked surprised to see her. Dave was the first to recover, "What are you doing here?"

"I live here." 

"I know. I mean, what are you doing here right now. You're in Europe. Well obviously you're in Stars Hollow but you were…"

"We got back yesterday," Rory said, cutting off a ramble. It was endearing, that was. "What are you doing here?"

"Band practice," Zack interjected.

"At 9 am? That's not very rock and roll."

Zack bristled visibly at her insult to his rock and roll-ness, "I have to be at work at 11:30. Besides it's 9:17."

Rory rolled her eyes, "Wow. When do the strippers and crack get busted out?" Zack bugged Rory. She got the impression his main goal in life was to take advantage of some poor groupies.

"Anyway," Dave piped up, "we thought the note your mom left us said you were getting back on Thursday and since today is Wednesday… We're sorry."

"My mom's writing is harder to decipher than a Doctor's isn't it?"

"I would have said ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, but yes. Yes it is."

"Well than it's not really your fault. I'm going back to bed."

"We'll leave. Quietly."

"Thanks."

When Rory woke up a couple hours later their were half a dozen donuts and a politely worded note written by Dave but signed "sincerely, Dave, Zack and Brian" thanking them for the use of their garage while they were away. No wonder even Mrs. Kim liked him.

And thus began the unlikely friendship between Rory Gilmore and Dave Rygalski. The band (still nameless) had returned the next day (though at the much more reasonable hour of 4:00 PM). After they had finished rehearsing (sans drums) Rory, now rested and far more agreeable, had, on a whim, gone out to the garage. Dave had been the only one left, tidying the garage, since another of Zack's "show moves" had gone awry. She had told him that they sounded good, much improved since she had last heard them play.

He had thanked her. There had been a silence, only a little awkward. She had broken it, asking if he had heard from Lane. He had lit up briefly, then dimmed almost immediately. That last flash of a burned out bulb when the switch is flicked. He told her about the post card he had gotten. He had added, hesitantly, eyes averted that Lane had sounded different, more distant than usual, than hurriedly backtracked saying that she was probably just in a rush, and that he was psychotic, really, to read so much into an insignificant little postcard.

Rory was unsure of what to say. She knew that Dave probably wasn't reading too much into anything. She also knew that it wasn't her place to tell him that. 

Lane was far more complicated than anyone realized. She loved music. She loved her mother. She wanted nothing more than for her mother to be proud of her. Lane's love of music did not make Mrs. Kim proud. So Lane hid it, in her closet, under her floorboards, through adjustments and half-truths. It was a never-ending internal tug of war within her. The drums, the band, the c.d.'s on one side, Mrs. Kim, the Bible and Korea on the other. The guilt was winning out. Lane had chosen her penance, the college her mother approved of. That choice would affect other things in Lane's life. The band. Her relationship with Dave. So the distance was probably deliberate. Lane, instinctively kind, was trying to spare Dave inevitable pain. Rory's heart, so recently broken, broke a little more for them.

And so she said nothing. She knew any words of comfort would ring false and Dave, more perceptive than your average eighteen-year-old boy, would hear it as clearly as she did.

Again silence stretched on. Dave, perhaps uncomfortable (he was, after all and eighteen year old boy, sensitive guitarist or not) with what he had revealed, asked her about Europe. Rory lit up and stayed illuminated. Words bubbled out of her. How beautiful and wonderful and fascinating it all was. 

And for the first time, prodded by a little voice in the back of his head, Dave noticed how beautiful and wonderful and fascinating Rory Gilmore was.

They got along strangely well and fell into an easy rapport. Both were tended to be quiet, shy wallflowers and so they got along as equals neither monopolizing the conversation. Dave, who utilized nonsensical tangents as his favorite pattern of speech, had no trouble keeping up with Rory. They bonded over the fact that neither ever used the first names found on their birth certificates. Dave explained that he had, from the time he was four years old hated being called David and refused to answer to it. He had fully intended to change it sometime but with a last name like Rygalski your choices of first names were limited. Rory had giggled as the possibilities rolled through her head. She had called him 'Slash Rygalski' at every opportunity until he got a little huffy. She loved that changing his last name seemed never to have even crossed his mind. Rory had explained, and Dave had understood after hearing stories about the first Lorelai, and knowing the second, that two Lorelai's were almost more than the world could handle. And so she was content to be a Rory.

They talked of movies and music. Dave confessed to loving_ Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ and Rory wondered how it was possible for him to be any cooler. The liked the same music but by a mutual and unspoken agreement Lane was never mentioned over the course of these conversations. Lane was never, save for that first one, mentioned at all. 

In fact, the only sticking point was food. The first time (five days after she had returned, a week before the kiss was to happen) they shared a meal was at Luke's. They had garnered a raised brow or two. But with Rory being Stars Hollow's favorite and most loved daughter nothing improper was suspected or implied. She had ordered a cheeseburger, French fries and coffee, as per usual. Dave had ordered a chicken sandwich, salad and a milkshake.

Rory had raised her eyebrows and asked, "Which one of us is the girl, again?"

Dave had blushed slightly and chosen not to reply.

Undaunted Rory had continued, "I mean a salad? At a diner? That's appalling and wrong."

"Don't listen to her, please. She's going to have a heart attack at the age of thirty-five, the way she's going," Luke had said gruffly, setting Rory's coffee in front of her, "tonight you're only getting one cup of coffee. And I mean it this time." Luke fled before Rory could protest, his resolve holding, for now.

"He'll crumble," she said confidently.

"How can you even drink that," Dave had asked, watching the mug with distaste. 

"Easy," she had replied, already half way finished.

They had bickered for the rest of the meal, easily and without rancor. Those within hearing range smiled, indulgently and with genuine amusement at their conversation. 

Rory had explained to Dave that one didn't actually need to eat vegetables, only allow for their "essence" and use a lot of ketchup. Dave had cheerfully labeled her a crackmonkey. Amazingly, Luke, (bolstered by Dave the anti-coffee, 'junior nutrition nazi' as Rory had in turn labeled him) held to his word and Rory had just that single cup of coffee.

When they left the diner Rory's hand found Dave's arm. It stayed their and neither even noticed, as it seemed perfectly natural. They had walked back to Rory's house like that, touching, looking distinctly like a couple of teenagers in love.


	3. Oblivious, Thy Name is Gilmore And Rygal...

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

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Notes: "I'm unbreakable, there's no need for fragile stickers…" Sorry. Am currently obsessed with brand new Rooney C.D. Plus, I managed to lose my previous authour's note and am much to lazy to attempt to recreate it. I'll just say, reviews have been, and will continue to be, much appreciated. And why is ff.net no longer respecting my centering?

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Part Three: Oblivious, Thy Name is Gilmore (And Rygalski)

Both Rory and Dave tended to be a little oblivious. Rory was a bookworm, Dave a songwriter. It was part of their respective mystiques. 

The fact that she was sitting and thinking about Dave in the middle of her afternoon, wondering where he was and what he was doing, didn't strike Rory as odd. Didn't, that is, until it was pointed out to her. It was her mother (who else) who shook her out of her happy Dave thoughts with the typically direct question, "Who's the boy?"

Rory (oblivious) had initially been confused, "There's no boy."

"That dippy 'I'm going to burst into song' look on your face says otherwise. I know the look. At fourteen, I had perfected the look."

"And just when have I had time to meet a boy?" Rory challenged, "there was Jess…" here, Rory trailed off, that was still a sore subject with Lorelai, "then we were in Europe, where, as you know, the vast majority of the men were a little on the sleazy side. We've only been back a week and half."

"And what have you been doing during this week and a half?" Lorelai pushed.

"You know what I've been doing. Nothing special. Reading. Sleeping. Hanging out with Dave… oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"It's not like that with Dave. He's my friend. He's Lane's boyfriend."

"This I know."

"I hate it when you're cryptic."

"That's what makes this fun for me."

"Well it isn't for me," Rory picked up the book she had discarded earlier in the day (in favor of going out to the garage to watch band practice, after which she and Dave had gone for ice cream and ended up by the pond talking for three hours), preparing to shut her mother and her crazy insinuations out.

Lorelai however, refused to be put off, "You can ignore me all you want, Rory. That doesn't change the fact that I'd bet every pair of shoes I own that the dippy look on your face was due to a boy. And his last name rhymes with Zygalski."

When Rory refused to respond Lorelai slipped out of the living room. It really was tough sometimes, she thought, getting people to see what was right in front of them. 

Dave was given a similar awakening the very same day, also at the hands of his mother. Mrs. Rygalski had come into his room where he was sitting on the floor, playing his guitar, trying (unsuccessfully) to write a song. Lately every time he tried to write all that came out were sappy lyrics about blue eyes and books. Dave (oblivious) didn't bother to read anything into that. His mom had sat on his bed and said in a grave voice, "David, we need to talk."

Instantly, inspired by the use of his name and that tone of voice (the last time he had heard it used he had been fourteen and the family Dalmatian, Stripe, was being put down), Dave was alarmed. He put his guitar aside and sat next to her on the bed, bracing himself for the worst. Instead of telling him about a dead relative, as he had been expecting, she asked, very seriously, "David, are you on drugs?"

Dave stared at her, for a full five seconds, sure she had to be kidding. She wasn't. Unable to help himself he started laughing. And was unable to stop. His poor mother only became more worried. Finally he calmed down enough to choke out, "No mom. No I'm not. Why would you even ask me such a thing?"

"It's a perfectly logical conclusion to jump to. You're in a band…" Here Dave suppressed an eyeroll. He knew his parents loved him and would support him but had a sneaking suspicion that they'd be overjoyed were he to one day throw aside the guitar and decide to become an accountant. "And your moods have been so unpredictable. First you were so cheerful and upbeat, and there was that whole church hymn phase, then you spent the first part of this summer moping around the house and then lately you've never been home, but when you are home you've been distracted and far away."

Well that was easy enough to explain. There was the Lane period (cheerful and upbeat) the post-Lane period (moping) and the Rory period (distraction). Of course, he wasn't going to tell his mother that. "Mother, I promise you I am not now, have never been, and will never be, on drugs. I've just had a lot on my mind." It was a cop out. He knew it and his mom knew it. He just hoped he'd earned enough trust points from years of good behavior for his mother to accept it without comment. He really, really did not relish the idea of explaining about Lane, the shenanigans to get around her strict Korean mother, the fact that the last postcard he'd gotten from her was thirteen days ago (despite her promise to write as often as humanely possible). His mother knew about Lane, sure. They'd met and she knew Lane was the drummer in the band. Mrs. Rygalski had liked Lane as she was polite and had no visible piercings. 

Mrs. Rygalski didn't know that Lane was headed to an all girls' college that made a maximum-security prison look homey and unrestrictive. A college Dave was sure had sirens that went off whenever a Y chromosome got within one hundred yards. Mrs. Rygalski had no idea Rory Gilmore existed. And at this point in time, when Dave was beginning to suspect that he would be lying if he were to say, "Hey mom. This is Rory, she's my friend," there was no way he was going to clarify said existence.

And so the next day Rory didn't come down to the garage and Dave did not seek her out as both were reeling from their mom-fueled epiphanies. They were both deep in the throes of denial. And dealing with it the exact same way. Holding inner mental arguments between their respective inner good sides and bad sides complete with commentators and bells.

Inner good Rory thought that it was much too soon for corporeal Rory to have feelings for another guy after Jess. Inner bad Rory pointed out that that theory hadn't applied with the Dean vs. Jess situation, so it obviously didn't apply now.

Inner good Dave argued that he loved Lane (hadn't he, after all, bent over backwards to be with her?). Inner bad Dave pointed out that should one really have to work so hard for something so simple as a date?

They struggled. They paced. They buried their faces in their pillows and screamed. Lorelai watched in amusement. Calling Sookie ever so often with a play by play. Mrs. Rygalski watched in alarm, wondering if it would be horribly wrong of her to conduct a discreet search of Dave's room. But neither Rory nor Dave arrived at any conclusions. Both were so caught up in avoiding one another that they didn't even notice the lengths the other was going to. They just congratulated themselves on their super sneaky avoidance skills.

But it wouldn't work forever.


	4. Owning Up

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

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Notes: Heh. As I'm writing this, the same Rooney song I was listening to and quoted in the previous authour's note is playing. Me = still obsessed. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. Especially those who say the pairing is growing on them. Convert to the Rory/Dave side. You know you want to (Rory/Dave is the new black, hee!) And to the person, (sorry I forget the name and I'm writing this in a not 'net connected computer) who said that they liked Dave because he was the best parts of Jess and Dean – thank you! That's exactly what I think, though I've never been able to articulate it that well, though.

Also, those of you who have read my previous stories must be like, what the hell? Why is she updating so much! Since usually, getting an update from me is like getting the peacocks to leave you alone (local thing, I was at the Zoo today and they let the peacocks wander free and one kept chasing us. It was freaky) i.e impossible. When I began to write this I intended for it to be a one shot thing. Next thing I know it's 5000+ words. I decided to break it up into a multi-chaptered thing. I had one to three done when I posted the first bit. So now whenever I finish one I post the next. I.e I finished part six, so here's four.

Enough from me, happy reading!

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Part Four: Owning Up

And it didn't. Dave broke first. Yesterday, Sunday morning Rory had woken up to the smell of coffee. An unusual occurrence. Sunday, Lorelai liked to sleep as late as possible so Rory was invariably the one up first and made the coffee herself. But not today, apparently. Maybe her mom had had another crazy dream. Rory threw off the covers and padded barefoot into the kitchen fully intending to tell her mother that she was the best mom in the whole world.

Lorelai wasn't there. 

But Dave was.

He was sitting at her kitchen table hands palm down looking more nervous than she had ever before seen him. She smiled, happy to see him, before she realized that it was her fault that she hadn't seen him and that she really shouldn't be so happy to see him. She had avoided him on purpose for nearly three days afraid of what she might say or do in his presence, because she had developed some freakish hormonal imbalance. 

Rory had done a great deal of thinking in those past few days (while avoiding Dave, her entertainment options were even more limited) and had come to annoyingly few conclusions. That she felt something more than friendship for Dave was the only thing she was certain of. What exactly that something was, and the degree, to which she felt it, were cloudier. 

Her mother had, wisely, given her the time and space to figure things out for herself, not mentioning Dave, or Rory's possible (probable, in her mind) feelings for Dave again. Rory was grateful for this, though she wasn't sure that dealing with it in silence was the best course of action. She had resorted to a list, a chart really, in an attempt to make sense of the situation.

The reasons she shouldn't pursue the thing with Dave (and yes, she had taken to referring to it as 'the thing' because she lacked a better term): Lane. 

Reasons she should: he was smart, and funny, and cute in a dorky Ethan Embry (circa _Can't Hardly Wait_) kind of way (she was not made of stone, such shallowness was not beneath her), he was passionate about music, he had a little sister whom he adored, he respected her ambitions, and previous evidence had shown him to be an ideal boyfriend. There were many, many more, but she had stopped the list there. Because that one little reason (Lane) seemed to cancel out all of the others. Lane was her friend and she would do nothing, could do nothing, to jeopardize that, ever.

Then there was also the fact that she was sure Dave was in love with Lane and couldn't possibly feel anything for her beyond friendship. And that by even entertaining other possibilities she was being the worst kind of idiot. The deluded kind. 

And so she forced the smile off of her face and ignored the way her heart began to race and that twinge in her stomach. She was undercaffeinated and hungry, nothing more.

Dave smiled at her tentatively, "Hey."

Rory managed a polite, but not welcoming, "Hello."

Dave stopped smiling, perceiving the thinly veiled 'leave' signals, "I made coffee."

Rory nodded, "Thanks."

Dave nodded back, suddenly at a loss. He had not thought that it would be like this strained, with a tension that had never been present between them before. He absolutely hated it. He too had thought long and hard about the situation he was currently in.

Dave was notoriously picky when it came to girls, always had been. His closest friends, Brian and Zack mocked him for it constantly. For Zack nothing mattered beyond a girls cup size and skirt length. Brian was slightly more evolved. But only very slightly. Anyway, it took a lot to affect Dave. Lane had been the first girl in a long time to do just that. It was how she talked about music that had done him in. She loved everything about it in a way that Dave recognized since he loved it the same way. After that there were little things that just made him like her more. Her spastic rants, they way she played the drums as if it were the most important thing n the world, the look in her eyes after he kissed her… And so he had done anything he could to be with her, never questioning the extremes.

At first, anyway. Eventually, he had wished she would just stand up to her mother, once and for all. He knew that she hated having to be two different people. He had asked her about that once and all her had gotten was a weary sigh and a, "You wouldn't understand, Dave. It's a family thing." And that had burned him a little, that she wouldn't confide in him, to try to make him understand. But he had ignored it, told himself that she would confide in him when she was ready. As time wore on he wondered if she ever would be.

Whenever he thought about the future with Lane he got a little depressed and so he tried to concentrate on the present, telling himself that it was better to live for the moment anyway. Because when he was truthful with himself he knew that Mrs. Kim would never truly accept him. He was never going to be Korean or a doctor and therefore, he wasn't worthy of her daughter. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when it came down to it, if forced to choose, Lane would choose her mother. And he didn't blame her for that at all.

And then lately, things had gotten strained. He had been shocked at her choice of schools and had questioned her. What about the band? What about us? Me? Lane had answered noncommittally and he had stopped asking, feeling foolish and clingy. But they lingered in his brain. He was going to be living at home, attending the University of Hartford. It had a decent music program and staying at home would allow him to live cheaply until, hopefully, the band got off the ground. Lane would be in a dorm at her school and under the watchful eye of Mrs. Kim when she came home. It seemed hopeless when he actually allowed himself to think about it. 

And now her postcards could from Korea came at what could only be described as infrequent intervals. And they contained nothing more than a travelogue, as if she were writing to an acquaintance or business associate rather that her boyfriend. He had chalked it up to her being busy but he had glanced at a letter she had written Rory. Five pages single-spaced. He hadn't read it, though, he couldn't invade either Rory's or Lane's privacy like that. It was all very confusing and dramatic. And then of course, adding another wrinkle, was Rory herself. He supposed his hope to get out of teenhood without any melodramatic Dawson's Creek-esque catastrophes was shot to hell now.

Speaking of, there she was pouring herself a cup of coffee, refusing to look him in they eye. She didn't seem to be too eager to make conversation.

"Your mother let me in on her way out," he told her, though she didn't ask. You'd think she'd have wondered why she was sitting at her kitchen table relatively early on a Sunday morning.

"Out? Where was she…" Rory's eye caught on the Hello Kitty stationary stuck to the fridge. It read in her mother's scrawl, "Meeting Mia. Love Mom." Oh. Right. In her self-absorption she had forgotten that Mia, one of her absolute favorite people, surrogate grandma before she'd known her own, was in town. Well that was just great. She really was going to the dark side. And so she snapped a little. "I suck."

"What?" Dave asked, shocked, "no you don't."

"Yes. I do. I really do," she set down her coffee and started pacing the kitchen. "What's happened to me? I used to be the nicest person ever! Responsible! And now, I haven't returned my grandfather's last call, which was on Tuesday, by the way, I haven't begun looking over my textbooks. That's really unacceptable, by the way. I'm going to Yale! They expect you to be prepared there, you know."

"I'm sure they do," Dave agreed, mildly bewildered.

They definitely do. You know how in _Legally Blonde_, Reese gets kicked out of class for not having done the reading? That'll be me."

"I'm afraid I've never seen it."

"Well you should! Meanwhile I'll have just blown huge chunks of my grandparent's money. I haven't returned my library books. I haven't talked to Dean since I got back, even though I promised myself I would be a better friend to him than I was a girlfriend. I have lied to my mother, several times in recent memory, to be honest."

"I'm sure she understand."

"She does understand. Because she's Lorelai and she's great. And now Mia's in town and I forgot."

"Who's Mia?" he asked. Dave, for his part, found the whole scene rather fascinating. He'd never seen her so emotional before, eyes unnaturally blue, cheeks flushed, gesticulating wildly. She was amazing. And he wished there was something, anything, he could do to take away the stress she was obviously feeling.

"Only the reason why we don't live in a shack on the wrong side of the tracks. Nevermind that Stars Hollow doesn't have a wrong side. Or worse, I'd be one of those snotty rich girls at Chilton that I really, really don't like. I'd be Francie! I never told them that I didn't like them, of course, but I'd rather rip out my own fingernails with needle-nose pliers than talk to one of them for an extended period of time. 

Dave cringed, "Nice imagery."

By now Rory had pretty much forgotten he was there. She was so caught up in her rant she had forgotten she was in her kitchen, in her pink pajamas, and that her coffee was rapidly getting cold. "And," Rory said, sobering slightly, "it's all because of you." 


	5. First the Good News, It's Going to Feel ...

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

****

Notes: For some reason I had the toughest time coming up with a title for this chapter. I turned to my C.D. collection (which has, unfortunately been borrowed from a fair bit lately, and much depleted, by various people, they won't read this but they need to quit ganking my music). So this title comes from Natalie Imbruglia's "One More Addiction." Lane and Dave are cringing at my selection, I now.

This chapter, as well as the next two I have written, are a bit on the short side and for that I'm sorry. It's just a little difficult to decide where things should be broken up. I don't want total cliffhangers, but I don't want the chapter wrapped up in a pretty bow, you know? This one in particular is a lot of dialogue, which I enjoy writing more than most other things. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. I feel like I know what it's like to be a drug dealer. Heh. 

****

Part Five: First the Good News, It's Gonna Feel Very Nice…

"What?" and now he was confused. Puzzled. Stupefied, even. By Rory's sudden change in demeanor, from frazzled to calm as much as her statement.

"I'm being so stupid," she said, tugging absently at the ends of her hair "this I know."

Dave stood up, facing her, but leaving a good two feet of linoleum between them. His heart was racing but his brain had kicked into slow motion. He couldn't comprehend what she was saying. "I seem to be having a brain malfunction so I have no idea what you're being. But I can't imagine that stupid is a possibility."

"And that, right there, is why this is all your fault," the anger flared as quickly as it had been extinguished and Dave became even more muddled.

"Spell it out, Rory. Using little, mini, cave man sized words."

"You're Lane's boyfriend."

"If we're labeling."

"I think, in this case, I have to."

"Then yes. I am Lane's boyfriend. And I feel a little demeaned. Like I'm nothing but a plaything. Have I not a name?"

Rory refused to smile, "And I'm her best friend."

"Now you're just stating the obvious."

"Stop that," Rory commanded, but without anything resembling anger in her voice, it lacked effect.

"Stop what?" 

"Deflecting, first of all. Being funny, second."

"I can't help it. I'm nervous. I deflect and joke when I'm nervous."

"Why?"

"Why do I deflect and joke?" Dave played dumb.

"Why are you nervous?"

"I don't know," Dave lied.

And Rory knew perfectly well it was a lie. She'd let it go. But she wasn't going to make anything easier for him. Not when she was struggling so hard. "And you're in love with Lane."

"I care about her, yes," Dave answered carefully.

"Is that a deflection?"

"Yes," he admitted.

Rory smirked, "Didn't I tell you to stop that?"

"I thought I did. Love her, I mean."

"You thought you did? Past tense?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

Rory softened ever so slightly. He wasn't some womanizing egoist who had come to ruin her relationship with Lane. He was just a guy, a nice guy, and this (whatever 'this' was, if there even was a 'this') wasn't exactly easy on him either. Going all Spanish Inquisition on him in her kitchen didn't appear to be helping, anyway.

"Why did you come here this morning, Dave?" she began again, gentler, less crazed this time.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I didn't imagine a conversation like this."

"You imagined our conversation?" she questioned, charmed despite herself 

"For the better part of yesterday," Dave admitted.

"Okay," Rory seated herself and Dave followed her lead. An expanse of chipped wood separated them. "And how did this imaginary conversation go?"

"Oh no. No, no," he protested.

"What?"

"You're asking all the questions. I'm doing all the work. That's hardly fair."

"I suppose your right." 

"It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Okay," Rory took a deep breath and attempted to collect her thoughts, "shoot."

"Are you in love with Jess?"

"Sheesh. Couldn't toss me an easy one, could you?"

"You're right," Dave said pointedly, "That deflecting thing is annoying."

"Fine, then," she pouted a little, and Dave tried not to notice her lips. "No. No I'm not. And I never really was."

Dave was genuinely shocked. That was quite a revelation. His whole line of questioning was royally screwed. Nonetheless, he had to continue, "Have you been avoiding me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I've done complicated. I'm not eager to jump into it again."

"Cave man words, Rory."

"You're different, Dave."

"Gee, thanks?"

"I mean it in a good way," Rory was tired all of a sudden. They were talking in circles. Endless circles. She was already sick of it. "I like that you're different. I like you."

"Oh."

"More than I should," she continued, ignoring his reaction, "because Lane is my friend. My very best friend, excluding my mother. And you're her boyfriend."

"Oh," he repeated again, less than eloquently. Rory Gilmore was full of surprises. She was brave. Braver than he was and at that moment, with that realization, he fell just a little bit harder than before. "Rory?"

But she was ignoring him again, studying a particularly fascinating chip in the wood, words coming faster. "And it's silly, I know. Me liking you. You have a girlfriend and she's my best friend and I would never be that kind of girl. Cheating is bad. And I'm a hypocrite because technically I cheated on Dean, but you would never do that because number one you…"

"Rory!" he said it louder this time and it got her attention.

"Yes?"

"Please shut up."

She opened her mouth to snap at him. To tell him no, she would certainly not shut up, because she was thinking seriously about betraying her best friend and besides, this was her house and who was he… but he had leaned across the table, hands braced in front of her and his mouth was covering hers and the words would not come out.

Oh.

Rory's eyes fluttered shut as he placed tiny kisses at the corner of her mouth and brushed his lips against hers fleetingly. She turned her face away and his lips skimmed her jaw, "Dave, we can't."

"I know. I know that I shouldn't. But then I shouldn't want to and I do. So much. More than I can ever remember wanting anything." His eyes held hers and his voice didn't waver. His words should have sounded corny, trite. Like a bad line in a romance novel, but they didn't. Because he meant them. "But, if you don't want his," he continued, "than that's it. I'll leave and we can forget I was ever here and go back to being friends. Or acquaintances, if you would prefer."

Had he just kissed her and not given her a choice she would have been able to push him away. Her loyalty would have overridden her own desires. But he had to go and give her the choice. 

And she came to the fork in the road. On one path she bottled up every single more than friendly feeling she had had about Dave Rygalski and went on as if the past two weeks had never occurred, occasionally wondering what might have been. The second path was far less clear, but on it, she knew, lay something potentially wonderful.

So she made a conscious choice. Later she would realize that it had been made, by her evil, tricky, fearless subconscious, the second she had seen him sitting at her table.

Damn it.

She stood up slowly and Dave's face fell. He cursed himself and his gentlemanly tendencies. Thinking, and allowing others to think, in situations such as these (not that he had ever been in a situation such as this) was a very, very bad idea. Thinking led to reason. Reason led to doing the right thing. Even if "the right thing" felt terribly wrong. Dave straightened and prepared to be shown the door. Prepared to be given a heartfelt, but no less stinging, thanks, but no thanks speech. He didn't want to hear it. Not from her. He turned, planning on walking out the back door, when a hand, Rory's hand, griped his, effectively stopping his dramatic exit.

He turned back, to face her, to tell her that speeches weren't necessary, that he understood, and that yes, he really, really wanted to still be her friend, uncomfortableness be damned.

But she spoke before he could. "I guess this is about to get complicated." And then she kissed him.

Oh.


	6. Which One’s Right, Which One’s Wrong?

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

****

Notes: And after a little pause (which was positively short for me) between updates By The Book part the sixth is up. I'm working pretty much full-time and my social life has picked up, now that the majority of my friends have turned eighteen. We're Canadian so 18 = legally able to do pretty much anything. Thank you to all the reviewers (especially **Tinuviel Henneth** to whom I say all Dave fic is good fic! Sigh. I lurve Dave. If he's in it, I'll read it). I'm most impressed that I haven't gotten one along the lines of "Dave belongs with Lane! Die!" or "Trory/Lit/Narc 4 EVAH!" (and ew, I can't believe I just wrote that) etc. etc.

Man, there's always things I mean to address in the AN but I always forget. That's annoying. I'll just say that I'm sorry, but I suck at writing Lorelai. Allons-y. 

****

Part Six: Which One's Right, Which One's Wrong?

"Ahem," a throat was cleared (loudly) but the two original occupants of the Gilmore's kitchen were far too busy to notice that they were no longer alone. 

Kissing Dave, Rory had noticed, was unlike anything she had experienced before in her (limited) experience. It lacked the dizzying intensity and confusion she had always felt when kissing Jess. Her mind wasn't racing, trying to figure out what he was thinking, where the kiss was leading and where was the best place to continue so that no one could see them. Whos, whats wheres, whens, and whys, ceased to exist. Her mind was wondrously blank. All she could focus on was the texture of Dave's lips, the vaguest taste of peppermint and the fleeting patterns his fingers were tracing on her back where her pajama top had ridden up. Nothing else mattered beyond the two of them.

He wasn't as practiced and smooth as Tristan had been. He'd stubbed his toe on the table when he'd closed the distance between their bodies. He's cursed (a very mild curse) and she'd giggled until he had kissed her again. She hadn't been able to remember what had been funny. 

It wasn't like kissing Dean, either. The fact that his fingers were on her bare skin, causing her spine to tingle in a manner she was sure wasn't normal or healthy, was proof of that. Her body was pressed up against his, her hands twined around his neck. 

So it was different than what she was used to. It wasn't so scarily intense. It was passion more than practice. It wasn't safe and easy and simple. But it was unbelievably good. Had she known it would be like this she was sure she would not have fought against it for a minute, let alone days.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore!"

That got their attention. It was a law of the universe that the number of names a mother used when yelling at a wayward offspring was directly proportional to how much trouble said offspring was in. Rory, needless to say, could count the number of times she'd been 'Lorelai Leigh Gilmore' on one hand. 

Instantly, Rory and Dave sprang apart, placing a good four feet of space between them. Rory faced her mother. Her mother and Mia. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red than they had been before as she studied the floor and tried to regulate her breathing. It was one thing to be caught like this by her mom, but by Mia… 

"We were just…" Dave began to stutter out some sort of explanation.

"Oh don't worry, I know perfectly well what you were 'just' doing. I had front row seats to the floor show just now, remember?"

Sufficiently intimidated, Dave fell silent.

"Smart boy," Lorelai said sarcastically before turning her attention to her daughter. It was then that her stern, shocked mother façade crumbled. She giggled and tried to smother it with a cough. When Rory met her eyes, bewildered, she smirked, "Hate to say I told you so."

Annoyed, yet a little relieved, Rory glared at her mother, "Than don't."

"Oh but I have to. It's my right as the one who gave birth to you. And don't think I won't pull this little story out to embarrass you with on every significant occasion for the rest of your life. My daughter. Making out with a guitarist in the kitchen. I'm so proud," Lorelai wiped away an imaginary tear before continuing, "Besides, it's so rare that I'm completely right, and you're totally wrong."

"Mom…"

"Oh! Where are my manners?" Lorelai turned to Dave, who was doing his very best to blend into the (rather loud) wallpaper. "Dave, this is Mia, owner of the Independence Inn, and one of our greatest friends. Mia this is Dave, the one I was telling you about."

Mia held out her hand, a gleam of amusement in her eye "Nice to meet you, Hottie McMusician." Dave flushed even more, unused to being teased in such a way by kind looking senior citizens, and Mia, admirably, was able to maintain a straight face.

"Mom!" 

"Honestly, Rygalski is such a mouth full," Lorelai said innocently.

"So this is what it's like to wish for the ground to swallow you whole," Rory murmured.

"No," Lorelai answered, "that'll come later, after we have a nice little mother daughter chat."

Rory sighed, resigned, and turned to Dave who appeared to be mortified into muteness. "I'll walk you out." He nodded silently and followed her out of the kitchen away from Lorelai's badly concealed glee and Mia's benevolent amusement, carefully avoiding eye contact. "I'm so sorry about…" 

But her apology was cut off beneath Dave's lips, which had once again descended upon hers. Whereas in the kitchen he had kissed her slowly, exploring, gently coaxing and receiving a response he now kissed her with a fierceness she had not expected from him. His hands clutched her hips, backing her up against the doorway as his lips and tongue sought hers, memorizing her, so that, no matter what, he would always have this moment. Finally, he pulled away, giving in to the oxygen requirements of his body. Gently he rested his forehead against hers. "What is it with people and not letting me finish my sentences today?" Rory breathed, eyes still closed. 

"I just… I didn't want to only have done that once," Dave said, by way of explanation.

"I didn't really mind."

He smiled and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before stepping back, putting some distance between their bodies, lest her mother, just in the next room, wonder what was taking them so long and come to investigate. "What you said back there, before, was right."

"What did I say?" she asked, her synapses slower than usual.

"That things were about to get complicated."

The blankness lifted and just like that she remembered. Dave was another girl's boyfriend. A girl that just so happened to be Rory's best friend. Rory closed her eyes as the gravity of the situation, kept at bay by the warm, fuzzy feelings she had been having while Dave kissed her, returned.

"Hey," Dave's fingertips brushed her face, her closed eyelids, down her nose, before coming to rest on her cheek. His thumb brushed her lips and she opened her eyes to find his staring straight into her, unwavering in their earnestness. "I want you to know," his voice faltered ever so slightly. He cleared his throat and began again. "I want you to know that no matter what happens with… any of this, that I don't regret what happened today. And I never will. Not for one second."

Tears pricked at the back of Rory's eyes but she couldn't cry. Not just yet. His words weren't fancy or poetic. He wasn't making promises he couldn't keep. And somehow, that moved her more than anything else could have. She stepped forward once again, rose to her tiptoes and wrapped him in a hug, burying her face in his shoulder, "Thank you, David."

Dave hugged her back, taking his own comfort in the simple gesture, and replied, "You're welcome, Lorelai."

Finally Rory pulled back, quickly swiping a hand across her face to get rid of the few tears that had leaked out against her will.

Dave opened the front door, turned and said, "Goodbye, Rory."

Rory smiled and said, "See you later, Dave."

He nodded, understanding her meaning, and silently walked out onto the porch. Rory straightened her clothing and headed back into the kitchen. Her mom was sitting there, where Dave had been when the morning began, drinking coffee; glee replaced with motherly sympathy.

"Where's Mia?"

She went back to the Inn. She thought we could use some time to talk a little."

"Oh," Rory dragged a kitchen chair closer to her mother and sat down in it heavily. She dropped her head onto the tabletop, hair obscuring her face as her tears flowed freely.

"So. You and Dave, huh?"

"Yeah," and no words were spoken between them for the next few minutes while the daughter cried, and the mother tried to give what comfort that was possible to give.

* * * * * * *

And that was the chain of events that led Rory to this, two days after the incident that shall not be named, sitting in the living room, trying to read, but instead contemplating the nature of astrology. 

But if Dave was water, what did that mean? Water, if she recalled correctly, was the healing, emotional element. It was the strongest, the most enduring, water having the power to, over time, change the shape of anything, even the toughest granite. And that, to Rory, was unbelievably scary.

Astrology was nonsense anyway, she told herself. No one with a functioning left-brain could possibly believe any of it.

However, nonsense it may be, that didn't stop a little voice in Rory from pointing out that water was what one used to put out fire. And that ice was most effective in soothing the wounds one received when the flames got too close for comfort.


	7. Loyal in Your Shadow

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

**Part Seven: Loyal in Your Shadow**

Rory was in a sticky situation.  A situation she would have never have thought she would never, ever, had been in, and thus, she was sort of at a loss as to how to proceed.  Love triangles belonged in Aaron Spelling dramas, not her summer vacation. The closest thing to a love triangle Rory had experienced, so far, (although, she certainly hoped it wouldn't become a habit) was the whole debacle with Tristan and Paris.  But, she reasoned, that hardly counted, did it?  Rory had never shown any romantic interest in Tristan, and he had never pursued her beyond his metaphorical sand flinging.  Furthermore, Tristan had never indicated that he had any remotely non-platonic feelings for Paris.  That wasn't a triangle so much as an abstract stick figure construed as a triangle in Paris's over excitable head.

Also, Rory had never imagined that she would be competing with Lane (although, was that really an appropriate word?  Competing implied conscious effort by both parties and Lane was blissfully unaware, in Korea, far, far away) for the affection of a guy.

This was partly due to the fact that before now, it hadn't even really been a possibility.  The two people in her life she was closest to were her mother and Lane.  Obviously, she and her mother had never been interested in the same guy.  They watched Jerry Springer to mock, not to learn.  And she and Lane had always had very different tastes.  Lane had 'discovered' the other sex a good two years before Rory.  Whenever Lane had gone on and on about the physical attributes of her various crushes Rory had listened, somewhat disinterestedly, and when Lane was done, steered the conversation to something else.

When it came to real life crushes, they had never, not even once, been fixated on the same person.  Generally, Lane lusted after the more obvious targets.  Mike, the captain of the football team (total Neanderthal, but with the most amazing green eyes), Grant, the confident, funny guy who made everyone laugh, Jared, the ultra popular senior class vice president… and so on and so forth.  Lane's crushes were fleeting.  They changed from month to month, from week to week, sometimes.  

Rory had always seen beyond the outward shininess of Lane's lust objects.  Mike went through the cheerleaders like her mother went through _Vogue_, Grant was funny, yes, but more often than not (when authority figures were absent) in a heartless way, and Jared took great pleasure in tormenting the freshmen.  At the time, Rory had never bothered to point out flaws such as these to Lane, though.  She felt like she was missing something.  Lane saw something, and from the talk at school, others saw something in boys such as these, why didn't she?

Later, just a few months ago, shortly after Lane began seeing Dave, they had seen Jared at a store in Hartford.  They hadn't talked to him but the sighting had led to reminiscing and Rory had wondered, out loud, in a mostly rhetorical fashion, how Lane could have possibly liked those that she did, given there less than attractive personalities. 

Lane had smiled at her, in that vaguely patronizing way people like Paris and Madeline and Louise did sometimes, a way that made her feel like she was naïve, in some way and said, "That's the point of a crush, though, isn't it?  You never even have to have a meaningful conversation with them, but your heart beats come faster when they walk by.  You know nothing about them, but you imagine that you do.  It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

Rory, never having experienced something like what Lane was describing, didn't reply.  She was grateful, however, that Lane didn't comment on the less than charming personality Jess displayed around those who were not she.  

Rory had always operated differently than Lane.  Her crushes (crush, really, because didn't it cease to be a crush when he later became your boyfriend?) had been enduring and few in number.  They also tended to be on the less obvious boys.  There was Riley, the quiet boy who was always in her advanced English classes.  The teachers often read his work aloud, they never said it was his, but Rory could tell.  He began to shift uncomfortable and flushed ever so slightly.  He was an amazing writer.  

Then there was Dean, the mysterious new boy from Chicago, who showed an interest in her first.  And then Jess, also a mysterious new boy (but a well read, more jaded, prickly one) this time from New York, who also showed an interest (however masked it had been) in her first.

Hmm.  Funny how she had never noticed that little pattern before.

Lane had never really understood what Rory had seen in either boy.  She hadn't minded Dean, only thought him a little boring and bland.  But he'd been nice, and had treated Rory well, so she had commented little.  Privately, Lane couldn't help but hope Rory would spice things up a little.

Jess was not what she had had in mind.  Recognizing the way Rory felt about him, Lane had tried very hard to like him.  Tried, and failed.  As a result, they had not talked about Jess much.  Lane avoided the subject because sometimes, she really wanted to smack Rory, for taking Jess's sometimes inconsiderateness without standing up for herself.  When Rory had explained that Jess really was different when they were alone Lane had done her very best to believe it.  Still, the fact that Rory was upset over some Jess related thing almost as much as she was happy, did not help Lane to give Jess the benefit of the doubt.

Still, it was seriously doubtful that Lane would be happy that Dave Rygalski was the brand new spice in Rory's love life.

Even though Lane recognized, as Rory had, that the possibility of the two of them wanting the same thing, boyfriend wise, was slim to none, she had, nonetheless, made Rory promise no male, no matter how good looking, or smart, or perfect, would ever come between them.  Rory had thought the promise silly, but Lane had been so solemn she had sworn anyway.

She didn't think it was silly now.

They had been fourteen (well, Lane had been.  Rory, having been born in October, was nearly so) at the time and just about to start at Stars Hollow High.  It had been a summer in Stars Hollow, a summer almost exactly like all the others they had spent before.  Lane spent most days helping her mother in the shop, the rest with Rory listening to illicitly obtained music they had only recently discovered and talking about things of almost no importance.  Mama Kim was still strict, but not as strict as she would become, perhaps due to the fact that Lane was practically still a child.  It was before Chilton.  Before Dean and Henry and Jess and the great Harvard vs. Yale debate.  Before Lane decided that she didn't just want to listen to music she wanted to make it.  All that had happened made the four years seem longer than it technically was. 

Just now, Rory wished she had paid a little more attention to Lane back then.  Maybe they could have drawn out a procedure as to what to do should they both fall for the same person.  Then, maybe, Rory would have some idea as to what she should do.  Should they not tell Lane, pretend nothing ever happened?  Should they be honest, but have Rory back away gracefully, on the principle that Lane saw him first (although, technically, Rory had heard him first, on her answering machine, did that count?).  Should Lane be the one to back away, since both she and Rory knew she planned on letting Dave go come September, anyway (of this Dave was unaware, did that affect anything?).  Should they both let him go?  Should he get to choose?  Rory desperately needed some aspirin.

The only thing that looked to be a certainty was that Rory's friendship with Lane would never be the same again.  And that thought was almost too depressing to bear.


	8. Avoiding the Issue

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

**Author's Notes**: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm glad people still care. And for those who wanted something longer, I give you chapter 8: the second longest, thus far. It's a little raw, and I'm not entirely pleased, but I have a demon!paper to write and I'm getting this out so I can focus on it.

**Part Eight: Avoiding the Issue**

They'd been trying to lock the song for two hours. Dave was distracted, Zack was huffy and Brian was watching the two of them uneasily.

"Dude. What is up?"

Dave looked up, somewhat fuzzy. That had been Zack. And he seemed rather irate. Probably with good reason as Dave had just messed up his fingering, yet again, and made a sound come from his guitar that was not suitable for human ears. "Nothing," even so, he played dumb.

Brian rolled his eyes. And something was officially wrong with the universe when Brian was rolling his eyes at you. "You're way off. Way, way, way off."

Ouch.

Zack snorted. "Forget off. You're sucking. Like a…"

"Hoover," Brian interjected, mercifully, as whatever Zack was about to say was probably not PG. "So what's the deal?"

"Fine," Dave said, resigned. Maybe it would be good to get some outside opinions on the situation; perhaps it would provide some perspective. "I kind of, sort of, made out with Rory Gilmore."

"Dude," Zack said, sounding awed, "high five. Rory's hot. And she has a car." So maybe he'd been giving them too much credit in the perspective department. Dave glared until Zach's hand returned to his side. "What?" Zack looked towards Brian, sufficiently bewildered, "What'd I say?"

Dave resisted the urge to smack him. Zack held a grudge. "Lane. Girlfriend. Cheater. Me."

Five. Four. Three. Two… Comprehension dawned. And ahead of schedule, too. Impressive. "Oh. Riiiiight."

"Yeah."

Zack waited a beat, "So, scale of one to ten. Just how good is she?" This time Dave did smack him. And promptly wiped his hand on his jeans. Zack used far too much product. "Ow! What the hell, man?"

"Don't talk about her like she's some random groupie."

"Ha! I wish."

With a sigh, Dave prepared to smack Zack yet again, and Zack cowered, just a little. Brian, silent up until that point spoke up, stilling Dave's hand midway, "You really like her, don't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

"What are you going to do about it?" Brian asked.

"I wish I knew. And I can't believe I'm one of _those_ guys."

"What guys?" Zack asked, mildly pouty.

"You know, those guys that cheat. Next thing you know I'm wearing Hawaiian shirts and utilizing, 'hey baby what's your sign?' Oh god. I'm a frat boy."

"No you're not."

"Thanks Brian."

"You just don't have the build for prints."

They saw little of each other during the next few days. It wasn't avoidance so much as it was the conscious giving of space. Plus, Emily had asked at the last Friday night dinner how the Yale preparations were going and had been scandalized to learn that they had not yet begun. The very next day Rory had found herself in the back of a chauffer driven car next to her grandmother being lectured on the importance of thread counts. Rory watched as a blur of linens and toiletries and office supplies, costing far more than they should have, were wrapped up.

Then, one morning, a Tuesday that was just a little bit cloudy, Rory ran into Mrs. Kim while on her way to meet her Lorelai for coffee. When she'd seen Lane's mother, walking along at an impressive clip, she'd had the urge to flee in the other direction. The woman barely tolerated her most of the time, and that had been before Rory had betrayed her only daughter. However Mrs. Kim had spotted her and nodded her head curtly, a sign that she wanted a word. Fleeing, Rory decided, would have looked weird. And possibly, to Mrs. Kim, like she had suddenly taken up drugs or wind sprints or some other distasteful hobby. "Hello Mrs. Kim," she called out politely, "how are you doing?"

"Rory. Lane will be returning in three days."

"Oh! That's wonderful."

"Yes. We have much work to do. For school. Goodbye."

"Bye." For a moment, Rory was jubilant. Lane was coming home! For a moment. Then the best friend related excitement was replaced with other woman related feelings of guilt. It seemed that she had to talk to Dave.

Rory's opportunity came quickly, later that day. She paced the kitchen as band practice went on, and decided that two hours of pacing had to be sufficient cardio for at least a month. When the telltale signs of packing up reached her ears she bolted into the garage.

All three boys looked up at her entrance. Dave straightened and smiled, almost shyly, and her stomach bottomed out. "Hey."

"Hey," she replied and forgot about the presence of miscellaneous band mates. For a second.

"Hi Rory. Cute shoes."

Okay. That was… odd. By the look on Dave's face, he apparently thought so as well. "Thanks Brian. They're my mom's.

"Good afternoon, Miss Gilmore. You're looking well." She turned to Zack and found that he was gazing somewhere in the vicinity of her left earlobe. Had she been standing two feet over. Twilight Zone-esqe music began to play in her head.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Dave directed the comment to Zack and Brian. It was clearly a hint. They took it, lugging various pieces of music making equipment with it. When they were gone. He stepped around his opened guitar case so he stood within arms length. "Hey again."

"How is it," Rory wondered aloud, "that I'm not around for a few days and all of a sudden Brian's all 'Just Jack!' and Zack's become Dame Judy Dench?"

Dave smiled, "I kind of missed you."

Damn it. Still charming. "I kind of missed you, too. But we need to talk."

"I figured. Look, Rory, I…"

"Lane's coming back. Friday." Oops. That was not how she'd wanted to drop that particular bombshell.

"Oh. Well. That's not much time, is it?"

"No. Hence the need to talk. But not here. I can't have this conversation in my garage. Cars live here." She turned and headed back into the house. Dave trailed after her. She seemed to be headed to the kitchen but veered off to the living room at the last second. Probably a good thing. Dave didn't think he could sit in the room where he'd first kissed her without wanting to do it again. And such a thought was just not conducive to a rational, adult conversation. She gestured for him to take a seat on the couch and he complied. "Wait here." She darted off and disappeared into her bedroom. He'd never actually seen it, but was sure it was nice. When she appeared again she was armed with two spiral notebooks and a fistful of pens.

Dave raised an eyebrow, "Are we playing Pictionary?"

Rory deposited the notebooks and pens on the coffee table, and seated herself on the floor, across from him. She drew a single pen towards herself and flicked it so it spun. "I'm not always good at saying what I feel when it counts for something." She watched the pen intently.

Dave scooted off the couch and onto the floor. He dipped his head down, until his chin pressed into the table, but he was able to meet her eyes. "Does it count now?"

She flipped open a notebook and scribbled for a second. 'Yes' it said. Always a good word.

He claimed a pen. Reaching across the table he wrote a reply, 'I'm glad' underneath her answer. She pretended to glare, "Hey. Get your own notebook. And write legibly."

They continued that way for a little while, posing questions and writing answers. There was a certain measure of security in the almost clinical nature of it. Neither had to confess anything without the other having to as well. They were more honest than they might have been otherwise.

Eventually, the answers got longer and more complex, the questions less concrete, and they began to talk more than write. Neither really noticed the change.

Nearly two hours later they were sprawled on the living room floor, the coffee table flipped on its side to give them more room. Rory was on her stomach, her arms wrapped around the pillow her head was resting on. Dave lay on his back, his arm nearly touching her side, his head turned towards her. He was watching her, unblinkingly and it was mildly disconcerting.

"Okay," Rory said, attempting to fit the pieces of what she'd learned into a whole, "So we've established that you like me. And that I like you."

"There is mutual like."

"And that liking is of a more than friendly variety."

"Definitely."

Rory ignored his attempts to be glib, "And that you're not my usual type, and perhaps that's a good thing."

"And that I don't have an established type, and that that's a pretty good thing, because you're an undiagnosed schizophrenic in relationship situations."

She gave in and laughed. She rolled over onto her side, propped her head up on her hand and poked him. "I think it's worth noting that you appear to be incapable of not doing the funny-deflecting thing."

He mimicked her pose, "Ah. But there's a method to my madness." His voice lowered, ever so slightly, and she felt him leaning into her. His fingers reached out traced the corner of her eye, coming to rest on her cheekbone. "Frowning gives you wrinkles." He kissed her then, gently, his mouth relearning hers. When she responded, slipping her fingers up his chest, he pulled back muttered her name thickly and kissed her again, tangling his hands into her hair. When she would have fallen back to the floor and pulled him along with her he pulled away. They were still for a second, breaths coming short and fast. Finally he spoke, his mouth curving into a smirk. "Plus, you're far prettier when you smile."

She smirked back, "Cheesy, Rygalski."

"All true, Gilmore."

He pulled away from her completely and sat up. She did the same and clarity returned. They were there for a purpose. She drew in a breath and straightened her hair. They had yet to deal with one very important thing: the Lane factor.

**Next Chapter**: The Lane factor. And, uh, no end in sight people.


End file.
